


State of Fear

by manic_intent



Series: Eminent Domain [4]
Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Arranged Marriage, M/M, That AU where Santino and John deal with fallout from the Impossible Task
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 21:36:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11953110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: Santino looked pointedly at John. More rituals. This was clearly not Santino’s problem, or a D’Antonio problem. Politically speaking, bratva business played no part in the D’Antonio alliance. John found himself wishing it wasn’t so simple, even as he inclined his head. “Coffee?” he asked the Tarasov brothers.“Thanks.” Viggo said.“Please,” Abram said. John led them over to the dining area and went to get cups. Over from the living room, he could hear the game starting up. Nobody touched the coffee. John sat down, wincing. Recovery was slow this time.The brothers didn’t miss that, of course. “How are you?” Viggo asked. It wasn’t a polite greeting this time, more like a manager checking on a resource.





	State of Fear

**Author's Note:**

> Closing out this arc :3

Viggo’s hands were folded behind his back, but Abram was awkwardly holding a large fruit basket. As John stared, bemused, Santino pushed past him at the door, smiling, shaking hands. First Viggo, then Abram, then the sullen, skinny kid behind Viggo with watery eyes. Everyone exchanged polite greetings. The kid turned out to be Viggo’s boy, Iosef. 

“Come in,” Santino said, when the social ritual was over and done with. Viggo relaxed. The fruit basket was whisked away, after which Santino glanced between them and settled on asking Iosef, “Do you play Gears of War?”

Iosef brightened up. “Yeah.” 

Santino looked pointedly at John. More rituals. This was clearly not Santino’s problem, or a D’Antonio problem. Politically speaking, bratva business played no part in the D’Antonio alliance. John found himself wishing it wasn’t so simple, even as he inclined his head. “Coffee?” he asked the Tarasov brothers. 

“Thanks.” Viggo said. 

“Please,” Abram said. John led them over to the dining area and went to get cups. Over from the living room, he could hear the game starting up. Nobody touched the coffee. John sat down, wincing. Recovery was slow this time.

The brothers didn’t miss that, of course. “How are you?” Viggo asked. It wasn’t a polite greeting this time, more like a manager checking on a resource. 

“Ribs less sore. The two bullets they left in, starting to hurt less. The one they had to remove, still a problem.” This was why doctors generally didn’t operate to remove bullets unless they had to. “Couple more weeks and I think I can work.”

Abram sighed. Wrong answer? Viggo glanced at his brother, then over his shoulder, towards the sound of someone revving one of the game’s ridiculous chainsaw guns. He looked back. “Can you?” Viggo asked. His tone was mild, but John had watched Viggo order the murder of a rival family with this same careful mildness, down to the women and children. The bratva was ruthless because they were a dark strain birthed from a society that was long accustomed to ruthlessness measures. 

“Yeah.” John said. The Tarasovs had left their guards with the D’Antonio retainers at the gate. This was a show of trust, to come here to John’s house with even Iosef in tow. Or a reminder, maybe, that his life as it was now existed as a political byproduct and nothing more. Beyond the dining room, the sound of gunfire and chainsaws died down, with the game’s metallic ‘all-clear’ growl. John stared at the table, tired. 

“We don’t like to teach lessons,” Abram said, in Russian. “Rather, we prefer that the student teaches himself the lesson. Often it is a harder lesson than he would prefer. But it would be a necessary one.” 

“I understand,” John replied, switching languages without looking up. “Marcus said I was stupid to try and he was right. Santino also thought it was dumb.” 

“No necessary lessons are entirely stupid,” Viggo said, with another glance at his brother. “You killed two of your three targets. We’re grateful for that. You’ll receive a bonus for your efforts.” 

John didn’t bother to answer. If that was a consolation of some kind he was indifferent to it. He was only grateful that somehow, he hadn’t completely ruined what he’d already had. He’d been too wary of trying to fix things from a hospital bed, given how that had worked out for him when he’d tried, high on drugs and unable to say the right thing. 

“We like to think that we are fair,” Abram said, after a long pause. “We don’t expect people to work for us forever. Especially people who contributed to our success. Marcus, for example, will be retiring soon, with our blessing. In time, that will also be your fate. No tasks required.”

John glanced up, startled. Viggo stared at him. “However, once you are old and slow, the D’Antonio family will cease to fear you. And once they do, how sentimental do you think they will be?” The brothers rose to their feet, Viggo first, before Abram. “Think about that. Perhaps in the years to come the D’Antonios will start to value their alliance with us more than their hold on you. If you truly want that boy then an early retirement is not in your best interests.” 

John was quiet as the Tarasovs were shown out. He wanted to go for a drive, somewhere quiet, but once the door was closed and the Tarasovs were heading down the driveway Santino asked, “So what did they want?”

“They were checking in.”

“For that they come personally? With Iosef? Please.” Santino pursed his lips. “Bratva business? Or you just don’t want to tell me?”

Santino had been prickly since John had returned home from hospital. Understandable, maybe. Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. “Think they tried to threaten me.”

That made Santino blink. “What? What for? No doubt you’ve learned your lesson. Or did you try and quit again?”

“Slow down.” Standing for too long tended to tire him out. John sat on the couch, grimacing as his wounds ached. Santino glowered at him, but eventually sat beside him, at arm’s reach but no closer. “No. I didn’t try to quit again. Told them I could probably start working again in a couple of weeks, give or take.” 

“But?” 

“They said they let Marcus retire. That they’d let me retire too, eventually.” 

“Well yes,” Santino said, clearly puzzled. “That’s only logical. If they work you well into old age then you’d be a liability. Worse, they’d gain a reputation. People will think twice about working for them.” 

“Think they were telling me to be patient.” 

“That’s not a threat. That’s logic.” Santino scoffed. “And nothing they couldn’t have told you over the phone.” 

“They wanted to show me that you were right, okay?” John stared evenly at Santino. “That without the alliance between your family and theirs then you really don’t have any reason to tolerate me. When I’m older.” 

Santino went quiet. He frowned, averting his eyes to the picture frame by the tv, the paused game. Eventually John got to his feet, circling around the couch, heading for the garage. The last few weeks had also taught John that silence could sometimes hurt more than words could. He was almost to the door when Santino exhaled. “I didn’t mean that.” 

John glanced over. Santino was hunched down, staring at his feet. Defensive. The danger signals were obvious. “Okay,” John said finally, settling for a neutral answer. 

“I said it just to hurt you, all right? Sometimes people do that. Say things they don’t mean just to twist the knife.” Santino glared at John when he didn’t immediately respond. “I’m not apologising.”

“Didn’t think you would,” John said, when Santino looked like he was expecting an answer. Santino groaned, muttering to himself in Neapolitan, rubbing a hand slowly over his face. Then he uncurled from the couch, stalking over, hands jammed in his pockets. 

“You want to go for a drive? Let’s go for a drive.” 

“Where?”

“I don’t care.” For whatever reason, Santino was stiff with anger. 

John gave in. He was quiet as he started up the car, taking them down the driveway, past the checkpoint. Usually he went in aimless circles or down a freeway, until the roar of the engine relaxed him, wound him back down. Today he stayed hyperaware, his hands tight over the wheel. Santino ignored him, staring out of the window, sunk in his seat. They headed south.

“You’re really hard to talk to,” Santino said, when they eventually crossed the Raritan River. “That’s why I get pissed off sometimes when I try.”

“That’s fair.” _Santino_ was hard to talk to, in John’s opinion, though he kept that to himself. 

“I still think what you tried to do was stupid.” 

“I know.” 

“Do you regret trying?” 

John glanced over at Santino, but Santino was still staring out of the window. No clues there. Not that John was really any good at reading those. “Don’t know.” 

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I really did want to retire. Still do. But I won’t make any more deals,” John said quickly, when Santino started to frown. “I meant I’ll ease out eventually. Like Marcus.”

“So what part of it do you regret? If any?”

“Think this is the longest you’ve ever been mad at me.” Usually Santino’s tempers were like flares. They burned hot, then quickly burned out. Better than John’s. Long fuse, but somebody would die. 

“It comes and goes.” Santino went quiet again, and after about twenty minutes or so of icy silence, John turned the car around. He felt exhausted by the time he shut down the engine in the garage, but before he could get out of the car, Santino was climbing onto his lap, a gangly fit over John’s knees. 

“I don’t like it,” Santino said. “That the Tarasovs came here.” 

“Okay. I’ll let them know.”

“Don’t. That would be rude. My family and theirs are meant to be friendly.” Santino poked his shoulder. “What I’m trying to tell you is. I don’t like that they tried to use me as leverage. _I_ chose to marry you. It wasn’t a choice made on my behalf. Understand?”

“Yeah.” 

“Similarly? The fact that we’re still married is also my choice. If I wanted to I could have gotten out of this marriage—alliance intact—a year ago. The Tarasovs guaranteed my safety with you and even though the kidnapping was at the university, the enemy was yours, not mine. And even now. You just tried to sabotage the alliance. Do you see?”

John nodded. Obviously he knew that. If Santino wanted out, he could leave. 

“Not even my father fears you at present,” Santino said, poking him again. “We know you won’t move against us, at least not as you are now. The word got out. Next time you feel like making declarations of love, try not to do it in public.” 

“Oh.” Granted, John had been fairly loopy at the time.

“I think you don’t understand,” Santino grumbled. “This is what I meant when I said it’s hard talking to you. You can be incredibly literal. It’s annoying.”

“Like to think that people mean what they say.” 

Santino grimaced for a moment, then he bristled all over again. “Life doesn’t come with subtitles, John.” He leaned over, flushed with temper, tight-lipped, gorgeous, hands clenched over John’s collar. “I’m trying to tell you, _stronzo_ , that the alliance isn’t why I’m still here, trying to have a conversation with someone who doesn’t fucking understand how to have one.” 

When John blinked, staring, Santino growled something in Neapolitan and angrily tried to open the door. John hauled him back, wincing as this earned him an accidental elbow to his sore ribs. Santino froze up, which gave John the time to pull him over, trying a kiss. Santino bit him, hard enough to bleed him, then relented, licking apologetically into his mouth, tasting coppery. Kissing Santino was simpler. Santino liked being kissed, liked the attention, being petted, being held close and worshipped. 

Love for John had registered itself into his consciousness as a state of fear. Happiness always felt too improbable, too good to be true. Things wouldn’t last, something would go wrong, there had to be a catch. Marcus had told him to stop looking for the catch. Self-fulfilling prophecy, he’d said. If John kept thinking he’d lose Santino then he probably would. Make unforced errors. 

Fear was why the photo frames sat around the house to bear silent witness, why John still had the dead cop’s envelope of photographs, hidden in his workbench in the basement. It was why he had kept the polite birthday card Santino had handed him in the first year of their marriage, even though it had no personal message, only a signature; why the second card was still carefully folded into its envelope, even though its message was terse and mildly insulting. Fortuna had been generous but John knew that She was fickle. The cards and photographs were not so much a proof of life but of reality. Maybe it wasn’t too good to be true.

“I’m not in love with you,” Santino said, as they breathed together. Defensive again.

“Told you I don’t expect it.” 

Somehow that was the wrong answer today. Santino glowered at him. “Why? Because you think I’m not capable of it?” 

“No? You obviously love your sister.” John had told Marcus that much. “And your grandmother. Not sure about your father.” 

Santino sniffed, not in the least placated. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Just don’t see how you’d get to that point,” John admitted. “Since you don’t even treat me like other people. I don’t mind,” he said, when Santino looked away with a sigh.

“Of course you do. You cared enough to nearly get yourself killed.”

“I mean I don’t mind that you don’t love me. I have it pretty good now. I know that.”

“But you weren’t happy about it.” 

“Doesn’t matter.” 

Santino let out a frustrated sound, bowing his head. “God give me patience. I need a stiff drink. That’s the problem. Don’t you see? You, keeping things to yourself until critical mass, and then you do a stupid thing because you think you’re backed into a corner. It’s going to happen again. Surely talking to me when you’re unhappy is easier than having to kill three mafia bosses in a night.” 

“Guess so.”

“What do you mean you ‘guess so’?” Santino flared. 

John thought this over. He’d come pretty close, all things considered. “Probably would’ve killed Lizza if I found him in time.”

“Before or after getting shot several times? Nevermind. Don’t explain. I’m trying to say, maybe the next time you want to work something out of your system _maybe_ don’t start by making terrible life choices. Talk. To me.” 

“Okay.” 

“Because this?” Santino gestured between them. “Any marriage is an alliance. When it works. If you make unilateral decisions? You’re breaking trust with me. And _that’s_ why I’m angry with you. Not because you made a stupid deal with your employers. Or that you nearly died. That’s on you.” 

“…I see.” John said, and now that he did, it was easier to add, “Sorry.” 

Santino studied him, still exasperated. “And?”

“Won’t do it again.” 

“Obviously.” Santino rolled his eyes. “And?” 

“I’ll talk to you first.” John grasped Santino’s hand, the one with the ring, pressing a thumb over the gold band. 

“Good. As to what the Tarasovs said to you?” Santino curled his lip. “You might work for them. But you belong to _me_.”

#

Love, in Santino’s opinion, was a complication. Flattering, of course. But because it was irrational it was unpredictable. There was no guarantee that it would last. Worse, love was sometimes merely the harbinger of hate. John might love him now but despite what Santino had said to John, love made John more dangerous, not less. Especially if he was unhappy: unhappiness was poisonous. It wasn’t true that Santino’s family now considered themselves safe from John. In this business, to feel safe was to start getting careless.

Gianna selected a finger sandwich from the tiered plates with pursed lips. They were in a private dining room in the Plaza Hotel, having afternoon tea, a practice that Santino found mildly excruciating but one that Gianna weirdly enjoyed. “I suppose we didn’t see that coming,” she said. 

“What, that someone could fall in love with me?” Santino dissected a scone, distracted. 

Gianna sniffed. “My darling brother, you’re family and I’ve loved you all of your life and _I_ sometimes still feel like strangling you.”

“Your friends love me.” He smirked at her, but Gianna refused to be baited. 

“Them? They’re in lust with you. There’s a difference. And it’s disgusting. In any case,” Gianna said, taking a small bite of her sandwich and chewing slowly, “we’re talking about John.”

“What about him?”

“There’s no need to get belligerent.”

“No need to fly all the way down here to warn me either.” 

“Nonna’s convinced you’re going to get yourself killed, by the way. She wants to cut our losses.” 

“What losses?” 

Gianna sighed. “Pay attention, brother. John was asked to kill three men. He killed two, decimating their operations in the process.”

“He didn’t get Lizza.” 

“Lizza thinks that might be a matter of time. And besides, killing Han and Cortez still cleared the Tarasovs to take control of a monopoly on the black market trade in drugs on this side of the coast.” 

“Drugs have never been a mainstay of our family’s income in this part of the world.” 

“Aren’t you listening? She’s not interested in income. She’s worried about you.” Gianna took a sip of her tea. “You’ve already been kidnapped once. You’d probably have died, if one of the cops hadn’t forgotten to cuff you. It’s dangerous, being seen as someone’s weakness.” 

“And what would you have done?” Santino shot back.

Gianna rolled her eyes. “Laughed off the proposal to Iosef and left it at that. No counter-proposal. Take the ‘apology’ in terms of a profit share.” 

“John—”

“Money talks. If we can make it unprofitable for the Tarasovs to attack us, that would be good enough. This marriage wasn’t necessary. And it makes things complicated. How are you going to enter the family business if your husband works for another clan?”

“John wouldn’t care.” 

“Of course he will. There’s an element of risk in what we do. He’ll care.” 

Santino forced down his exasperation. “I’m an adult. I can handle it.” 

“Can you? Most murders are carried out by someone the victim knew—”

“Oh, come on—”

“John’s dangerous.” 

“So why did you agree to all this?” Santino shot back. “A word from you against my decision would have turned Father against the deal. Especially since Nonna didn’t like it from the beginning.” 

“Because John is—or was—unusual. For a fixer. As far as we can tell, he’s never hurt anyone he wasn’t told to kill. Collateral damage from jobs aside. That’s not normal for fixers. Marcus, for example, shot two young men dead only a month and a half ago. Apparently they were drunk and tailed him home from a bar, tried to shake him down for money. He was more than capable of just knocking them out, but he didn’t bother. A lot of fixers kill for fun on the side. Or hurt people. They’re violent people.” 

“What do you mean ‘was’ unusual?”

“The perfect weapon,” Gianna said, finishing her tea. “Holstered until fired. That’s what he was. So I thought it would be fine. If he only hurt people the Tarasovs told him to hurt, then you would be safe. Then I heard about what happened with those cops. John went after you on his own.” 

“And you’d rather he hadn’t?”

“What was he like when he came home?” Gianna waited, even as Santino let out a sigh. “You don’t need to tell me. Jimmy did. Last week.”

“So you got to him.” Santino had left out having to calm John down when he’d talked to his sister afterwards. 

“That man has no spine, but yes, he was friendly once I said I was your sister and I was worried about you.” 

“If Jimmy talked, then you know that I managed to calm John down.”

“Because you weren’t the target. What happens one day when you are? Whatever he feels for you: love, obsession… it’s made him more human. Less of a weapon.” Gianna smiled. “People do crazy things for love. And they also fall out of it. Half of the marriages in this country fail.”

“Things would have been simpler without this complication,” Santino conceded. “And fine. I know it’s a problem. But I can handle it.” 

“Arrogance will get you killed. He wouldn’t even need to shoot you to kill you. He could probably use his hands.” 

“Less of a mess,” Santino said, smirking because he knew it’d annoy Gianna. “More exciting.” 

She rolled her eyes. “I see there’s no talking sense into you. Fine. Do what you like.” 

“If there is a way to buy John off the Tarasovs, though—”

“You think we haven’t tried?” Gianna chuckled. “No. They’re keeping a very tight hold on his leash.” 

“That’s what they think.”

#

“Viggo said you don’t like security being around but you’d most likely not kick me out,” Marcus said, as John let him and Iosef into the house. “Apparently the brat princes want to play some stupid video game together.”

Iosef scowled, even as at the couch, Santino narrowed his eyes. “Really?” he told Iosef, who wondered over to slouch down beside him.

“My father freaked out when I told him where I was going. Old people, man.” 

“If we’re going to have to be here for two hours I need beer,” Marcus told John, who nodded, bemused, and wandered over to the kitchen to fetch drinks. He came back to Marcus on the armchair, watching as the game loaded, Santino skipping the cutscene. “So this is a game about those half turtle things?” 

“No. These are people. In armour. Something wrong with your eyes?” Santino glowered at Marcus. 

“Don’t talk to the help,” Iosef told him. “Especially not this guy.” 

“You know,” Marcus said, accepting a bottle from John, “I’m actually not quite sure which of you kids is the bigger cunt.” 

“… When I take over the family business you are so dead, old man,” Iosef muttered. 

“Oh, I’m scared.” Marcus squinted at the screen as John sat down beside Santino with his own bottle. “These people don’t even walk like normal people. What even is… _whoah._ ” Marcus sat up as the craggy large monster burst through a wall and charged with a whistling scream. “The fuck is that!” 

“Berserker,” Santino said.

“Really don’t talk to him,” Iosef suggested grimly. As the characters on screen got stalked through the ruin by the monster, Marcus actually forgot about his beer, holding the bottle by the neck as he watched. 

“So these guys are… monster hunters?” Marcus asked.

“Not really,” John said, when both Santino and Iosef pointedly ignored Marcus. “World went to hell when they dug up too much fossil fuel or something and woke up monsters in the underworld that caused the apocalypse.”

“Like opened a gate to Hell?” Marcus asked skeptically. On screen, Santino’s character revved his gun to attract the monster’s attention. “This game is about climate change? What’s that stupid looking chainsaw gun a metaphor for, then?”

John shrugged. He wasn’t entirely sure of certain salient features, even though this was now Santino’s favourite game. “Dunno. Kills monsters.” 

“These guys run in a funny way. Like they’re ready to get fucked in the ass,” Marcus said, and flinched as the berserker smashed through a pillar. “Well shit. If _I_ was being chased through a tomb by some giant monster I wouldn’t be so fucking noisy about it.”

“You’re meant to use the monster to open doors,” John pointed out. 

“Surely any self-respecting Army grunt would have explosives. Why don’t they just chainsaw the monster and then work out the doors in peace?” 

“Monster can only be killed by giant lasers,” John said helpfully. “But there’s no reception in the tomb or something.”

“In the far off future everyone’s still fucking using AT&T?” 

“What happens if you were to tell John to kill Marcus?” Santino asked Iosef, teeth gritted. “Out of curiosity.”

“My father’s really fond of this mu’dak for some dumbfuck reason.” 

“How about you and Marcus go for a walk?” Santino told John pointedly. John glanced over at Marcus, who smirked. 

“No can do, bratling. I’m paid to be here to make sure nobody hurts the other bratling. But that doesn’t mean that anyone gets to enjoy it.” 

“I really hate your friend,” Santino said afterwards, when Marcus and Iosef had gone home and John was trying to make a simple pasta sauce. “Marcus.”

“Don’t think I like Iosef,” John said, chopping onions. Santino was perched on a stool by the kitchen island, not bothering to help.

“Iosef’s not my friend.” 

“Heard you agree to go over to his place to play some other game with his ‘posse’.” Behind Iosef, Marcus had rolled his eyes.

Santino shrugged. “Haven’t played the latest Call of Duty. I might ask Ares along. More players the better.” 

“You bringing security?” 

Santino raised his eyebrows. “Not into their home, of course not.” 

“Okay,” John said, lowering the knife, “so can I come?” 

“You suck at shooting with a controller.”

“I don’t have to play.” 

“Why, don’t you trust your boss?”

“He isn’t my boss.” 

“Not yet. But he’s the only child. It’s a matter of time.” 

John finished dicing the onions and started to peel a carrot with his knife. He respected Viggo and Abram. They were ruthless, but fair. Iosef, though… there was something ugly about Iosef. John had met boys like him before, a long time ago in the Marines. Some people were cruel for the sake of being cruel. Because they liked it. They got a trip out of hurting people.

“I know you don’t like him either,” John said finally. “Years ago, when I asked you why Gianna didn’t just marry Iosef, you laughed.”

“I don’t have to like him.” 

“To do what?” 

“Someday he’s going to take over his family’s business. Your leash will change hands. From father to son. Assuming you haven’t been put out to pasture, but I don’t think you’d be allowed to retire that early.” 

“You think there’d be trouble?” 

Santino laughed. “No. Maybe. That’s not the point either. Your leash. I want it. The father won’t trade. But maybe the son will, in time.”

John set down his knife again, slowly. “You want me to kill someone for you?” He wasn’t sure about that. Viggo would probably be pissed. But if there was a good reason—

“No.” Santino’s grin faded. “How the fuck did you come to that conclusion?”

“My mistake. Sorry,” John added, when Santino clearly wasn’t placated. “You think there’s gonna be an issue?” John wasn’t sure about that either. If there was some sort of conflict between the Tarasovs and the D’Antonios. 

“My grandmother thinks you’d hurt me someday. That it’s only a matter of time.” 

“And what do you think?” 

“I think you’re more than capable of it. Not that you will,” Santino said, when John sucked in a slow breath. “At least, not as you are now.” 

John had broken something else. Or was this the same thing? “You really don’t trust me anymore.” 

“I didn’t say that. But people fall out of love all the time.” 

John sighed. He started to dice the carrot. “I’ve been in love with you for a while. Not sure when it started. Realized it near Christmas, the first year. When you were real excited about all that snow.” 

Santino had been laughing and throwing snowballs at everything. Even John. Too excited to be wary. The whole day had been like stepping sideways into some parallel world, one where he had a normal life, with a partner made joyous by his company. John had let Santino chase him around the house. They kissed in the snow as the world grew quiet. The next day Santino’s sister arrived for a visit and things were back to the way they had been, but John remembered. He wished that he didn’t. Tasting the impossible only made you hungry. 

“Really?” Santino was frowning to himself. “That was a weird day. I think you actually came close to laughing. Pretty sure you even smiled at one point. I thought maybe you were coming down with the flu.” He smiled, though. 

“It was a good day.” 

Santino stared at him, started to say something, and swallowed the words, thinking. Finally, he looked rueful. “One of many? Or the only one?” 

“Told you before, I’m glad we met. Grateful, even.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Day like that? One of a few.” 

“The photographs,” Santino said, glancing over to the corner of the kitchen, where one of the frames sat unobtrusively near tins of sugar and tea. “Is that what they are?”

“Some.” He didn’t always have a camera with him. Santino was quiet through dinner, thinking, and after, when they watched tv, he curled against John, not really watching. When Santino dozed off, John tried to pick him up, woke him in the process, and they ended up stumbling upstairs, kissing. Prep in the shower was slow; the water got cold long before they were done cleaning up. Santino didn’t complain, grinning as he licked water off John’s throat. 

“Bed,” John said, sucking marks in turn down elegant shoulders. 

“Mm. Too far.” Santino turned around, bracing his palms over the tiles, smug as John cursed and had to grab at the base of his cock. Gorgeous and marked. There were condoms and lube in the cabinet over the sink, thankfully. John took his time again, marking his way over Santino’s back, slicking him up and stretching him until Santino was wriggling and growling. “Come on, old man. Hurry this up.” 

He did try. Santino let out a breathless little sound as John carefully ground all the way inside, his lips parting, back arching, legs nudged apart. He let out shaky groans as John waited, mouth buried against Santino’s throat. The body around him clenched tightly, making John hiss, digging his fingers into Santino’s hips. His cock throbbed painfully, trapped. Santino was still too tight. “Shit,” John said, and Santino started to laugh, groping back, fingers skating over John’s neck, up into his hair. Joyous, the world quiet but for their gasps. John tried to nudge forward, but there was nowhere that he could go. He was as deep as he could be.

“Move.” Santino kissed John’s cheek, nuzzling down to his mouth, grinning, all mischief. John’s hips twitched as he gasped, and Santino laughed again, the sound breaking into a purr. It was difficult to wait, stroking Santino’s cock in slow pulls until Santino finally started to get impatient. “ _Move_.” 

John kissed him, waiting until the pressure eased before obeying, slow at first, then starting to thrust roughly once Santino keened, angling to please. His recovering frame still hurt, but he didn’t care. Santino cursed, rocking his hips against John’s grip, his head bowed. The sounds were louder in the shower stall, visceral and slick. John braced his weight and shoved up with each thrust, rocking Santino up onto the balls of his feet. Santino yelped, his hand against the tiles clenching into a fist. He was close. Then his cock was jerking in John’s grip as he made a shocked sound and sagged against John, breathing hard. 

Santino pulled away, ignoring John’s moan of protest, twisting them around to push him against the tiles, pulling off the condom. He kissed John on the mouth, grinning, breathing mischief. Then, still grinning, Santino went down on his knees.

#

They settled into beanbags, which Santino supposed was one thing that Iosef’s place had over Santino’s. It was a room filled with linked up tv screens and consoles, wires snaking around bowls of chips and cans of coke. There were posters of scantily clad women on the walls and the room smelled mildly of old socks. If Iosef wasn’t heir to a bratva clan, Santino was fairly sure he’d probably die a virgin. As it was, he wouldn’t hedge his bets.

“Three teams?” Iosef suggested. “You and Ares, me with Andrei, Lev and Sergei.” Andrei and Lev were Iosef’s age, Sergei was closer to Santino’s. Lev was a bratva kid—he’d done a double take when John had walked in—but the other two weren’t.

“Fine,” Santino said. 

Sergei sniffed. “The girl can shoot?” Ares turned her head. Turned out she had a secret superpower: somehow she was able to smirk rude Russian boys into embarrassment. Santino mentally resolved to bring her again the next time. John had wandered off with Marcus. So much for their babysitters. They played three games, winning two, then Iosef wanted to play a free for all, which was a shitshow. 

Santino got sniped by Ares, of all people, and as he stared at her, betrayed, John ambled back into the room with a beer and settled against Santino’s beanbag, watching the play, resting a palm on Santino’s knee. Across the room, Andrei started to say something, only to yelp as Lev kicked his ankle without looking away from his set. The round ended with Lev winning, Ares second. 

“Another round?” Iosef asked. “John can play if he wants.”

“He sucks,” Santino said. John sighed. 

“Bet he does,” Andrei muttered. 

Santino looked Andrei pointedly in the eye. “He’s good at _that_. Your point?” 

Lev snapped something in Russian when Andrei started to open his mouth, and he shut it, flushing. They played another set. This time Andrei died first, which was a little annoying, because Santino had been hunting for him. Ares got the kill just as Santino happened into line of sight. And then she shot Santino again, this time at close range. “Really?” he told her. She smiled. She ranked top. 

They played until it was getting dark, at which point Iosef summoned a minion to get pizza and they ended up eating out of boxes in a dining room surrounded by gold-framed portraits of gloomy people. Viggo was nowhere to be seen, which was probably just as well, though after dinner, to Santino’s annoyance, John was summoned upstairs. 

Iosef glanced at John’s retreating back, then at Santino. “Halo?” It was a peace offering of sorts.

“Sure.” 

Afterwards, when they dropped Ares back home, Santino said, “What did Viggo want this time?” 

“Checking in.” 

“And?”

“No threats this time.” 

Santino looked outside, at the road spooling past, marked by only occasional streetlights. Had Viggo guessed? “It still took a while.” 

“Guess so. He said that since they’re still sorting out the new pipelines, there’s not much work right now that their other fixers can’t handle, so I don’t have to take as many jobs if I don’t want to.”

“That’s good.”

“He also said that your family offered again to trade. Your sister offered, this time. Apparently she called on him personally.” 

Gianna? She hadn’t said. Santino scowled. “She always tries to meddle. Viggo said no?”

“He said life won’t get any better on the other side. That if I just become one of your family’s fixers then they’d eventually just see me as something to use. Asked me if I wanted that.”

Santino sighed. “John.”

“I told him I’d think about it. Thing is. I don’t want to move from one debt to another.” 

“But?”

“Don’t know. What do you think? It’s your family.”

“And they didn’t see fit to call me to talk to me about it.” Damn his sister. “I think you should talk to Viggo. Ask him for a fixed date on your retirement plan. Negotiate an early one if you can. Hold him to that. You really don’t want to have to work for Iosef if you can help it.” 

John looked over at Santino, surprised. “Thought you’d want me to say yes. Work for your family.” 

“What’s the point? Your situation would be around the same. Except that my sister doesn’t forgive her debts.” Santino knew his own family very well. Whatever price they had to pay to buy John’s leash, they would take out of his hide several times over. System clans, after all, were at their core highly efficient businesses, and they’d need to recoup their losses. “We don’t need her help with our problems.” 

As Santino had told his sister, _he_ could handle this. They could bet against their future by themselves. That made John go quiet. Back home, once Santino got out of the car, he found himself pressed against it, bracketed by John’s warm and unyielding bulk. John studied him, as though trying to memorise the moment. Then he leaned in. The world grew quiet, folding inwards as they kissed, bent against each other, making their own time.

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent.tumblr.com  
> \--  
> Refs:  
> The mission Marcus ruins for everyone, one of my fav missions in Gears of War: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KO7mTPFB7e4  
> http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2013/04/domestic-violence-murder-stats/


End file.
